Ten years ago I sat in a hospital bed, staring out the window on the third floor. Outside the world looked exactly like the one I’d lived in all my life. Yet nothing was the same. Nothing ever would be. In my hand I had a piece of paper, which restated what I had already been told. I hadn’t needed the paper to know. In fact, I hadn’t even needed the visit to the hospital or the doctors or the examinations. I knew. It’s one of those things one just knows, I think…
Ten years ago I had it confirmed that I am unequivocally born barren. No mitigating factors, no chances, no reasons or explanations or even extrapolations offered on the cause for this defficiency. It’s just one of those things, and there is nothing that can be done or tried. In that sense, at least, I suppose clarity can be both cruel and merciful at the same time.
I don’t know if I have come to terms with it. Or whether I ever will. But perhaps for the first time I feel like I need to say something on this. Speak of it. I don’t know. When the topic is mentioned in conversations or the media it’s always about how to treat it, about deadlines and upholding the rights of those unable to conceive.
Nothing is said of those for whom there never was a treatment, nor any hope. Nothing is said of those who don’t fit into a fertility programme. Nothing is said of their rights to have families.
I’m not saying it isn’t out there. Just that it isn’t spoken of. And I guess, that makes me feel like talking about it. Even if it is just to myself here. To anyone who listens however briefly – Thank you.
